Page 124 of Almost Ravaged

Sawyer looks at Noah first, then me, and smirks. “That was quite the closing argument, Professor. But have either of you given any consideration to what I might want?”

Chapter forty-one

Sawyer

Mercer and Noah both blink back at me, shocked expressions marring their handsome faces.

They’ve been caught.

Little boys with their hands in the cookie jar.

Though in this instance, the culprits aren’t boys: they’re men. And I might as well be the proverbial jar, because I desperately want their hands all over me.

The end of their argument was heartbreaking, and Mercer’s proposal was intriguing.

I only interjected because I couldn’t listen for another second, getting my hopes up, just for them to be dashed immediately.

Every cell in my body is alight with want. For all of it. For both of them.

Frankly, I didn’t know sharing was an option until two minutes ago, but now that it’s been thrown out there, I can’t think of a single thing I want more.

I hadn’t even considered what I’d do if I had to choose between these men. Hell, it’s only been a handful of days since Mercer and I hooked up, and other than a little teasing, nothing has happened between Noah and me. So why would that even come to mind?

Now, though, the answer is simple, and it’s staring us all in the face.

I want both of them, in every way they’ll have me.

Noah’s grief will have to be addressed over time. And not just addressed but managed and cared for. Tended to with patience and understanding. Plus, I deserve time to process the information about his loss, to refocus the lens through which I’ve been viewing him.

Knowing he’s a widower makes so much of his hesitation understandable.

I have to trust that Mercer knows his best friend better than I do. He wouldn’t push him if he was shackled too tightly by his grief to consider this, right?

Although if Noah’s wife only died a year and a half ago, where does that put him in the process of healing? Having suffered my own losses, I understand that the wound may still feel tragically fresh. But I also understand that we all cope differently.

Resolutely, I blow out a breath.

I know what I want.

We’re all adults here. They can each choose how to proceed.

“I’m so sorry,” Mercer says. “I didn’t know you were standing there.” He looks me in the eye, his expression one of genuine remorse. “We shouldn’t have been talking about a-any of that,” he stammers, “without discussing it with you first.”

In answer, I step into the weathered barn, past the piles of pumpkins and gourds, and stride forward, my shoulders pulled back and my head held high.

When I get to him, he reaches for my hand.

I allow it, giving it a quick squeeze, and lock eyes with him, silently assuring him that we’re good.

In fact, we’re more than good.

With any luck, we’ll soon be great.

He and I can’t get there on our own, though. We need input from the man with his back against the wall. The one who’s watching me approach with a mix of worry and want, trepidation and desire, behind those beautiful blue eyes and that perpetual semi-scowl.

I step into his space and prop a hand on my hip. “Did you make a decision?”

“I-I mean,” Noah stutters, still so out of sorts. “Ididn’t know if—”